


Hallelujah

by Dontblink_juls



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6088045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dontblink_juls/pseuds/Dontblink_juls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one who writes and tells this story is Castiel Novak, a novice writer, who, in order to cultivate his dream, took refuge in the old mountain house, where he will meet the mysterious man with tormented emerald green eyes that is in the woods playing his guitar. And, from that moment, his life will be completely upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> This is my second Destiel AU in english. It's a long fic.  
> I hope you like it!  
> See you then :)  
> Juls

I took refuge in nature, when I realized that the city was not my place. Too many distractions, vices, needs. Surrounded by people, they could not understand me, they said: "Stop dreaming, Castiel. The real life is another. Writing wont’ bring home the bacon".

My life, the one I chosen, the one I had decided to undertake, it had been full of sacrifices, and the succession of so many defeats over the years, but I never gave up.

A writer’s life can be difficult, it's true, but I never stopped believing in my dream, in my life.

I left my messy apartment in New York, where I thought I could have a chance with my book of poems, but it didn’t go as I hoped it would go. I had put a lot of faith in what I had written in recent years, but those from the publisher completely rejected my ideas.

I was desperate, I was at a dead end, and maybe I was dead too.  


I decided that I needed to take a break from everything, I needed to think. I had to make a change in my life, succeed in what I believed. I just needed a different scenery, to change all my false friendships.

I managed to do that by coming back into my real house, the one where I grew up: Whitefish, Montana. Stay away from all was the real answer.

I didn’t have anyone in the world, perhaps some distant relatives, but I preferred to be alone. I lost contacts with everyone since my parents’ death. We were only three of us. By now it had been ten long years since their death and I still wasn’t completely used to that.

The empty house was as I remembered it: the typical mountain hut made entirely of wood placed not too high and not at all far from the enchanting Whitefish’s Lake, surrounded by high mountains, and the immensity of the sky that stands on it making you feel extremely insignificant.

I was completely alone surrounded by nature, it was what I needed. Sometimes I went to the jetty, I lay on it, and with closed eyes, I listened to what the nature had to tell me; birds chirping gave me peace, I relaxed with their songs, while the wind blew among green leaves like emeralds, crashing down against the lake doing then shake, caused a strange feeling in me, like fear, but all I had with me now was far better than listening to idle talk on how to conduct my life. They always told me to continue my studies to become a lawyer, and this was the only job  that could give me money and satisfaction, but I had left it to study literature, my passion. I would never have been able to help someone else unless it was able to help myself.I decided to pull the plug on who did not support my choices, because writing for me was the only thing that mattered, the only one that still kept me alive.

  
One of the things that gave me the certainty that I wasn’t really alone in that place, it was the old and stony path to the hut, which I crossed demanding for a ride to a farmer, who had to go to his farm later. I was on foot and without a car.

For the first few days it was a bit 'difficult to adapt. I had chosen a way of life completely different from what I had in New York until recently before, but the one I had decided to resume, it was my previous life, my past that I was still tied to. Every time I placed my eyes on something, had it been a rock, a tree, a cup, or in particular the pier, they remembered me my childhood, when I was carefree and the only necessity I needed was to be happy. I remembered when my father took me on his boat to fishing at the lake, and how I did not take any fish, our picnics when there was the snow, but all of this I could revive it only in my memories.  
Although I was in the most beautiful place I'd ever seen, my desire to write was completely gone. I was surrounded by the blue of the lake and by the immensity of the green, just as his eyes.  
The first time I heard him, it was unforgettable and I felt less alone.

  
  
  
It was the night of a scorching summer. I left some windows open to change air.  
I was at my old desk, the one where everything started; I cleaned it, it was completely full of dust and it was a sacred place for me. I was writing a poem, or, at least, I was trying to.  
I threw another sheet of paper in the bin after I ripped it. Nothing. No words. I felt the need to do it. Also my greatest passion was leaving me ... like everyone else. I felt more lost than ever.

I stared for a moment to an old picture of me and my parents. It was there, on the desk, since I developed it; so many memories, both happy and sad, surfaced in me and it was just at that moment, I heard a melody. I jumped. I looked quickly out the window of the room, but there was nothing, the sound was too far from me. At night, it wasn’t recommended to have a walk, so I thought about that no more, and I went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up with a big headache. I  couldn’t sleep because of the heat. I made breakfast with the little that I had and later, I would have gone to the hut of the peasant, called Bobby, who promised me to stock up on all kinds of food in exchange for helping him. He told me recently, he was living alon and he didn’t know how to manage his farm, and because I absolutely needed it, I replied that I would have been happy. Bobby lived beyond the mountain, in the valley, and every morning, he offered to pick me up by car.

When I returned in the late afternoon, I was pretty much destroyed so I threw myself on the bed, but then I heard that melody again. It came from an acoustic guitar, I was sure. I was curious to know who the hell was going for a walk, playing in the woods. They had to be out of their mind.

I went out, I saw nothing but the melody was continuing to play. I let myself to be carried by that sweet sound, which took me to the lake. I didn’t have to walk very much, since I was living nearby.

I saw a man. He was sitting at the jetty and he had his back to me; he was playing his guitar and, at that moment, he began to sing. His voice was so penetrating, like a fresh breath of air that I haven’t been perceiving since the beginning of the summer.

 

 

"Well I heard there was a secret chord

That David played and it pleased the Lord

But you do not really care for music, do ya?

Well it goes like this:

The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift

The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah ... "

 

 

His voice brought up sad notes; he sang that song as if it belonged to him, I was almost thrilled. I moved closer, trying not to make any noise so as not to disturb him, but then I tripped over a branch and felt myself falling. The guy stopped immediately and, panicked, I said the first thing that came to my mind.

« Hey you! » I shouted out.

The young man in front of me stopped playing his guitar and looked at me. That was the first time I saw him, he was wearing a gray knit closed to the chest, uttering especially the biceps; a simple pair of dark jeans, and thick boots suitable for that type of soil. He had short light brown hair, face marked by time and marked with freckles around the nose; deep dark circles, full lips, and those sad eyes, but piercing, emerald green that kidnapped me completely. Suddenly, all my agitation vanished, I calmed down.

 

« Who, me? » He asked, turning toward me.

« Do you see someone else or something? »

« You and your clumsiness, » he answered.

« This is private property! » I told him, not knowing how to answer.

« Is this stone yours? » He said, taking one.

« Well... nope, but you have overstepped my fence » motioning.

« Oh, I apologize Your Majesty, I will go elsewhere »

 

The guy turned to leave, but I noticed his guitar: black at the edges that was blending in light brown, and a painted stain like a drop that seemed like flooding out of the canopy. It was not new to my eyes, so I found an excuse to stop him.

« Is that a Gibson? »

« Yeah, you know about this stuff? » He asked, staring at his guitar.

« Oh, no ... My mother had one. »

« She used to play? »

« Yes, a long time ago »

« I get it. Well, I'll get out of here, then. See you ... or maybe not »

 

 He hinted a smile, lowering his head, he looked almost embarrassed. Then he got up, picked up his backpack bringing it to his back and started to leave.

I clearly read in his eyes that he was lost, but he could easily pretend to be what he appeared to be, and he could be a serial killer for all that I knew, but he had such a beautiful face he couldn't be such a monster.

He stopped to watch the sunset, while I was looking at him as if it was the most usual thing to do for me. I had never seen someone so beautiful and, at the same time, concealed something mysterious behind those sad eyes.

The water became increasingly dark and orange, until it became completely black as the dark of night. I was too careless to observe the shades of the sky, when I noticed that he was gone.


End file.
